Long Polity Poems
Long Polity Poems. Below are the most popular long Polity by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Polity poems by poem length and keyword.
The tirade of the tyrant
Has subdued the trident
Gloating over the viceroy
It's the blood and sweat of
victory.
The subdued voice of defeat
Veiled in unapologetic defiance
Shedding secret tears of what could
have been?
What would have been in the hood
It's the defeat drenched in blood and
sweat.
The table is set for dinner,
Choice meats, mutton, chicken beef....
This is a parade of victory for the price
Of blood and sweat of the masses.
The meat is gorging on, the flesh is stuck between the teeth
A pain in the mouth, transversing the whole
polity
The bodies of the dead nationals crushed
A vivid reminder of the price of victory
Of shed blood and sweat.
(Written on the 15th April 2015, after the 2015 Nigerian Presidential elections)
The Founders' fear of tyranny
informed their choice of polity.
They chose a form of government,
founded on the people’s power.
They acknowledged the hand of God,
in battles fought and victories won.
And knew the nation’s future state,
depended on His potentate.
Political parties soon evolved,
with platforms bold and grand.
The people hoped that they would be,
the pathway to prosperity.
Progressives felt no need for God
and thought the government was flawed.
So, they installed bureaucracy,
in place of our democracy.
They thought a forceful president,
would help to forge their vision grand.
A society without poverty,
and with complete equality.
The tyranny of bureaucrats
led by the squad of autocrats,
has stoked resentment similar,
to that which sparked our nation’s birth.
When Virtue's ship has long left shore
and integrity valued no more,
then lies parade as gospel truth,
and crooks, ruffled consciences smooth.
The parties are not relevant,
identities are dominant.
Sharp divisions have laid bare,
a nation caught in chaos’ glare.
Our nation flirts with Hitler’s ghost
as we are with one man engrossed,
who promises to right what’s wrong,
and is supported by a vast throng.
The threat to our democracy
comes from the right and from the left.
Beware friends, of cult-like figures,
they'll one day treat you like a pig.
THE OCCURRENCE
WERE SHE FOUND REASON
TO PROVOKE HIM INTO ANGER
WARN THESE PEOPLE
THAT HIS FURY IS THAT OF
HER MAKINGS
ABSENCE OF BEHAVIOR
TO REMAIN UNDISTURBED
AND POLITY FINDING AWAY
TO REMOVE HIMSELF FROM
THAT WHICH ANGERS HIM
SHE STIRS UP STRIFE
TO CAUSE ANGER
SHE REVEALS IN
INSTRUCTION OF THOSE
WHO SHE MAKES PART OF
HER DEVANICE
TO SIDE WITH HER AS FAVOR
SHE IS AS VILE AS HIM WHO
SHE CAUSES TO BE
ANGRY
GIVE NO OPPORTUNITY TO THIS SATAN
AS SHE MIGHT FIND WAYS
TO CAUSE YOU ANGERED
SHE IS SATAN
AND AS SATAN SHE SHALL HAVE
YOU RIVALED AND DIVIDED
SEPARATE FROM THOSE WHO WOULD
BE MORE SUITABLE TO
WHAT IS EXPECTED OF THEM
SHE SHALL PROFEIT IN YOUR ABSENCE
MIGHT YOU FIND ONE WHO WISHES
TO PURSUE WEALTH TOGETHER
IN THE WAY OF LABOR
Electorate on tenterhooks until...
outcome of 2020 presidential election announced
Polling places slated to open seven o'clock
in the morning November third two thousand twenty
heightened tensions will strain patience
to breaking point concerning
extreme anticipation common joe experiences
(biden his/her time)
regarding which candidate trumpeted
as de facto commander in chief of United States.
Carpe diem the echoing refrain
heard and seen dispensed and broadcast
across telecommunications medium
cuz the very survival of democracy at stake
ruthless political machinations employed
to seize inalienable codified rights
couched within Declaration of Independence
and Constitution, written ethos, dogma, credo...
compiling aggregate of fundamental principles
or established precedents that constitute
legal basis of a polity, organisation
or other type of entity and commonly
determine how entity governed.
Understanding North American government
inextricably found yours truly agape
when chance occurrence brought hefty tome
into self assigned reading material
which storied author David McCullough
wrote engrossing John Adams biography
I read aloud with measured deliberateness
clearly enunciating each syllable of every word
despite runaway enthusiasm
to acquire historical premise
whereby original thirteen colonies
teetered on brink of immediate collapse
soon after majority representatives
swore fealty among themselves
despite ragtag soldiers
easily overwhelmed courtesy
fighting force of British Empire.
As a staunch affiliate of democratic party,
one veritable common joe
just biding his time,
I trumpet how crass
deleterious, egregious, fractious...
usurpation of power
jackknifed, kickstarted and linked
endemic flood (gushing) hatred
malicious, nefarious, opprobrious putrescence
laid down at the feet
upholding seventy five inches
of corpulent doughy flesh
regarding one conceited, haughty, and obstreperous
politician orchestrating machiavellian leitmotif.
Mark my words, that bull headed incumbent
will clamor, foment, incite, loose chaos
if Democratic candidate garners more votes
at the ballot box nsync with absentee citizens
casting their lot with the worser of two evils
otherwise put head between legs,
and kiss tuckus goodbye,
cuz hell in a handbasket looms on horizon.
As a child and a teenager I used to attend a mission-hall,
Which had an outreach to the homeless of Edinburgh;
And every three weeks until I was about seven,
They would give the last call so that god could your soul deliver.
They said at the end of every sermon,
Every three weeks in the evening,
“This is the last call!” and they meant ever,
‘Cos Jesus could return any time for the believing.
I felt so intimated by it, this unkind presence of mind,
That I could not properly sit on my seat,
But I knew that they were insane with melancholy,
And that it was the real dynamics of life that they could not heat.
I refused to chat with them after services and at the youth club,
About what I believed and about the in and outs of my thoughts,
But poignantly sat down with the Youth Fellowship leader once,
And talked to him about what in me life had very clearly wrought.
When I said outrightly that I did not believe in the Second Coming,
And that life was for keeps, give or take a few possibilities,
It was as if his world crashed down disarrayed in shambles,
As he was shattered by my philosophical sway and confident amble.
He realised fully that I was damning their last call,
The pressure of it and how it riled, writhed and tormented;
That it was for no good reason, for no universal moral principle,
For no disciplinary cause and for no complimentary angle.
So he arrogantly walked away from me, rudely with passivity,
Not aware of his own need of polity, sense and direction,
But it was a triumph for that mission-hall boy worker,
To react to an objector so firmly and not himself recapture.
They were generally unresponsive and indifferent,
To intelligent objectors who had a righteous way,
Because this left them with their day-to-day lunacy,
With reality dressed for them to face another day.
That mission has changed today into a Christian centre,
Bright and refurbished and selling lunches in a cafe,
And I am proud of its journey, how far it came,
Because the transition was by no means lame.
1
The personal is boring
as are my ruminations on the war.
What I need to do I can't try:
wander without shelter in the backcountry.
Or go deeper into the polity,
join a committee or a party.
Minute by minute and season to season
I like my life but what does it add up to, what reason
to go on? No better than a squirrel
or a spider. Spreadsheets, fake books, girls
I want too mildly, modestly or morally to have.
Can the economy and community be called love?
You can be killed and buried in gravel
Your children can be failed at school and marched to war
You can be taxed and sent to gaol for the honor of it
And there's nothing you can do about it.
Will we find the universe not large enough to hold us?
Will planet after planet be too old for us?
If you were president, what would your program be?
What one question is the key
to another's truth. How do you spend your money?
Do you believe in a god who can see
all and understand? Or is he
unable to care, a different species.
2
We take the long view
that as individuals drop
from sight, new enthusiasts
will associate. Legs
give out, lungs collapse,
but we do not let the circle lapse.
For every Aristotle
there are a million toddlers
who will advance no memorable
theories. But the mist
on trees and mountains,
sunrise over desert, are for
every merchant, traveler.
My sons will take on cares,
which toys are theirs,
as their parents grow
older. Slowness brings us
to our goal: do one thing well.
By that what is meant?
Don't be a dilettante.
Not having found the greatness
of a single, clear description,
definition, the greatness comes in
doing everyday what's known.
The Sparrow
by Positive Mark
Torch-burnt quills never offer apology.
Scorched earth policies revive a dead polity.
Force fed intellects give rise to economy.
Those who don’t fit, I advise you to follow me.
First, let’s pay homage to walls that were climbed.
Put in the time, and you’ll shine like Coach Prime.
Kill or be killed at the devil’s insistence.
If you lack fortitude, strike from a distance.
Fiery orators once fit the bill.
Now, they’re a hallowed list of confirmed kills.
Dead at the podium.
Dead on the balcony.
Genocide rhymes have become the new alchemy.
Armies of men show their butt on the street.
Reeks of an old auction, selling Black meat.
Honest comedians cancelled for jokes.
This is the new definition of woke.
Now higher frequency thought has been shattered.
Shirts weren’t printed when Black lives still mattered.
No reparations for cultural rape.
Modern day poets ain’t bustin’ a grape.
Torches on quills that were once burning arrows.
Who watches you, when his eye’s on the sparrow?
Nature did not unleash her terror on us
as it did with Noto, Haiti, or the Indian Ocean.
We abuse nature with the stamp of leadership which impedes lives,
causing artificial stampedes of hunger, worse than nature's disasters.
Quakes of human stampedes everywhere!
Ibadan free funfair stampede
Okija and Abuja free rice distribution stampedes
are only where the lens focused, away from the state of national stampedes.
Here in Ibie, twenty families scuffle over a bag of rice
Rice, a symbol of survival for the masses; ego, and popularity for the mighty.
Stampede here, there, everywhere!
The stomach infrastructure of the masses tremored to collapse
Despite the labour and service of strength.
The gourmandizers and political merchants are often quick
To the momentary rescue with 5, 10, 50kgs of rice, and a holiday
The trajectory of our 21st-century polity and popular leadership.
They said the organizers lack crowd-control measures
But there are stampedes in everything, everywhere, and every day
Price stampedes, fuel stampedes, recruitment stampedes
Religious stampedes, security stampedes, bank stampedes...!
For the masses, stampede stems from their lack and inadequacy;
for the rulers and rich, it stems from greed and ego.
No to leaders who trade our manhood in exchange for free rice.
Man must not live by charity alone but by every opportunity to earn his keep
Or what does it profit a man to gain 5kg of rice and suffer the loss of his life?
When will the rice-sharing era be over and every man earn enough for himself?
“The Shrimp Basket”
by Positive Mark
What warms your belly like a basket of shrimp?
Not only did you eat, but you went first class.
Sometimes the blessings go over our heads,
like the mind boggling dreams that we see in our beds.
To live in a place where no bombs are dropping is starting to feel like a novelty.
Adhering to xenophobic codes of life can result in the wrong type of polity.
So here’s where we stand.
We’re watching the news.
Two types of long beards are at war.
The prize of the battle’s a long swath of dirt that nobody should want anymore.
The mothers are crying. Their children are dying. Humanity’s bearing the scar.
The whole time, I’m chomping on baskets of shrimp, drinking cocktails in raucous sports bars.
A strange sort of guilt to inflict on one’s self,
but it’s realer than real all the same.
The nerve of me out here enjoying my life, while the Middle East goes up in flames.
Far be it for me to go question a faith, and believers should remain fastidious.
But it strikes me as strange, those who cripple and maim, are the ones who are staunchly religious.
The people who live in the holiest lands are the ones who are boiling in cauldrons.
Suppose we all chimed with “The Fire Next Time” by the the philosopher named James Baldwin.
I’ll sit back and watch, while they tally the dead. On a good day, I might shed a tear.
I just hope that the liquid that spills from my face doesn’t get in my shrimp
or my beer.
A blade of grass
produces health
in annual balancing equivalence
to consuming soil and sun's wealth.
A human child
given Earth's sufficiencies,
produces robust health
by consuming soil and sun's captures
and re-investing wealth
out into this child's multiculturing exterior.
A wise humane Elder
given Earth's sufficiencies
and given trust of responsible authority
by a democratically cooperative polity,
also aspires to produce healthy outcomes
within that community
in balancing proportion
through consuming soil and sun's captured resources,
re-invested in proportion
to this year's metabolic wealth,
and to last year's producer reimbursements,
nurturing future ecosystemic health,
and to each next generation's producers,
nurtured by this wise care
of Earth's wealthiest Elders.
A wise, and yet child-like, blade
consumes economic health
to produce cooperatively synergetic political wealth.